Mercer
by FF-Syk
Summary: Originally a Prototype story. Now, I just use it to publish narratives. Enjoy.
1. Mercer

Hunger. The hunger woke me, prodded me. The hunger for another. I am empty again. What happened? How did I get here? I don't recall. It seems I just appeared, began to exist, on this very spot. Did I come here? Was I left? Who would leave me here? Am I unpleasant? Why can't I remember? Maybe-- wait...

Who am I?

How can I not remember that? My own name! Do I have one? I don't understand. Am I... alive? I don't feel it. I don't feel the wind, or the rain. No, what is my name! What! Can I not be offered the consolation of being able to recognize myself? Or is it some trial of cruel taxation? What is my name! Someone tell me! But wait. There's no-one here. Why do I hear voices? There's no one around me. I'm on a rock. No...not a rock. A building. Of concrete. How high? Let's look. Oh. I can hardly see the bottom. Maybe it's the darkness. No, it's the height. What of the voices? They are different. There's a man's. A woman's. A scream. A memory? A vision? No, a victim. A victim of the hunger. Why is this? Why do I... the hunger. I need to eat. But how do I get down. I'm not a bird. I can't fly. How did I even...no, must eat. It's torturing me, I need to... ARGHHH! _The side, the wall. Climb down. Claws._

Wait. Claws? Do people have claws? No. Do I? It seems I don't—wait, here they come. Oh, the tingling, they are _forming. Claws. Climb down. Eat._

I am at the bottom. It is still raining. A puddle grows at my feet, my claws still tingling. There is light here, from a lamp. Many lamps. People. _Humans. Eat. _I need one. Just beckon. Here he comes. He has a vest, long pants, and a hood. He is cautious. He should be. Not much longer now._ He comes close. He sees me, my form. He screams. Ah, food. I feel him inside me. Another voice. The screaming. I can't block it _out. No one hears him, hears me. I am alone. But now, what's this? The tingling again, all over, my claws shorten, become fingers. My head points out. _I have a nose. _A split forms. _A mouth. _Am I human now? No, still the voices, and inside me, I can feel the hunger, waiting for another occasion. The man's blood flows around me, and I soak it up. A woman walks by, sees me. No, sees _him. _His form. The little blood remaining begins to coagulate.

"Arr eoo hert?" it sounds like. I don't know how to react.

"Hoo arr eoo?" says another, standing next to her.

I wish I knew. I wish I could say, and be helped. But I had no answer. Maybe the voices could tell me. I concentrate, closing my eyes, willing my consciousness to organize itself. The new one told me his name, and his recent past. Nothing more. I wish I could take that as my name. The only answer I have is myself. I show them. More screams. I try to walk toward them, they run. When I walk out to follow them, everyone sees. The whole street is deafening. I don't notice. _Eat. _I consume everything around me, but there are still more.

A feast.


	2. I Am a Gear

I am a Gear.

Not a soldier because they do more. Not a marine, because I do less. I am a Gear. A cog, made to keep the gears of a war turning. I make it last long enough to win. I go in, kill everything, I come out.

Let's see a marine do that.

First day on the job, the armor's very heavy. It stifles me. _How do people fight in this?_ I ponder. It's a challenge just to step out of the Raven without tumbling. On the ground, I get no rest.

The sergeant thrusts a rifle into my hands, and barks at me to get out and fight. _Fight? Already? Oh, shit._ I don't know how to handle this, this thing in my hands. How do I hold it? How do I—is that a _chainsaw?!_ What is this weapon of torture?

I see the lights on it, push some little buttons. A little box pops out, and some bullets fall out onto the ground. They rattle from the tremors. _That's probably not good._ I pull out another little box, and struggle to fit it in. I'm hiding in my little nook, trying to still my hands to fit this box in the gun. I force it in, and it clicks. The lights brighten. I pop out of my nook.

A bad face greets me. Like a half rotten skeleton, the flesh on it remains, but its teeth grow from its lips, and it's scalp is bald and white. I squeeze my trigger, startled by the boom of bullets. He falls down, but my finger stays in place, until the gun clicks, his blood showering out the whole time. I'm standing there, drenched in blood, his blood. I've taken a life. My finger still trembling, the gun keeps clicking. _I'm a killer._ Time to replace the box again.

I repeat, but hit the wrong button. The box gets stuck in place, and won't go any further. I panic. I can't wiggle it out, not in these huge gauntlets. I just pull it, yank it out, and try again. Another one comes, this time hopping over my barrier. I gasp, and it turns around to grab me.

The box is still stuck, and I can't shoot. I desperately try all the buttons, and hear the rev of an engine. No, the rev of a chainsaw. I press the button again, and hold it. My finger freezes up again, and it goes through his arm. He grips the stump, and drops me. The chainsaw still going, I swing, and hit his stomach. The intestines spill out, and he falls on top of me.

With this huge weight, I collapse, and the saw, still turning, goes through him, and then back. _Onto me._ I can't feel my legs, they've been disconnected from my body. I take my adrenaline rush, and heave him off, hoping someone will see and help. Someone does.

But they don't look like they are going to help.

Another white monster lumbers over, and lowers his rifle. He looks at me a moment, as if deciding what to do.

The last thing I saw was the bottom of his foot.


End file.
